Things Change
by hollywar
Summary: It wasn't that she was falling head over heals for the boy… now man. It was that she didn't detest his childish laugh like she had before. It was deep – a man's voice. Somewhere in between surviving the war and working for the paper, James had become a man.


**A/N - No, I am not dead. Just in university. I apologize for not writing much, and I suppose I could tell you that I'll be writing more in the time to come. But honestly, I can't promise anything because I probably won't be. I've been too busy, and where I know that isn't an excuse to stop something I love, I don't have any others. So, without further ado; this little story came to me when I was sitting in a lecture about colonial times. It is kind of a poor excuse for a story, but it's something to get me back on the bandwagon of writing.**

**Things Change**

It dawned on Sarah Phillips that perhaps coming to the colonies had not been exactly what she bargained for.

Coming here she had been a loyal British subject; fully believing that people who resided in the colonies were far from civilized. And in some cases her assumptions had been correct. Colonists, in her eyes, were far more barbaric than the British – and maybe that's why she felt compelled to stay far after a new nation was born.

Of course, after the initial buzz of the success in the war had come the hardships. Times were far from easy, and no one quite knew where to place themselves with nothing left to fight for. It seemed as if everyone were stuck in an inevitable rut, processing the information of just how badly the war had affected the economy.

Food was scarce, and by scarce is meant that families went days without proper food. Clothes were starting to hang off of bodies that were once plump with triumph that America was a place to start over. Legal battles of starting a new nation were playing a toll on not just people of importance, but everyone that lived here in the colonies.

It was times like these that made people thankful for just what they had, and put the wants in their lives behind the necessities. Everyone, in time of need, became closer.

It was a lesson she wished all her former British friends and family could learn. It still astonished her at just how the people with the least could offer the most for someone in need.

And somewhere along the way, she realized, she had become an American.

Perhaps that is why she was dressed as a man, wearing James Hiller's oversized clothing, hair pulled back into her normal loose ponytail.

Her mother, Sarah could picture the gasps of disapproval already, would have been far from impressed of her daughters actions. She would all but throw a fit of rage and demand that Sarah immediately go and change into proper young ladies clothing. She would probably faint.

But as it would go far passed her mother's comprehension; Sarah _wanted_ to be in slacks and shirt. A few months earlier and the mere thought would have sickened her – and here she was, in the meadows where bloodshed had happened mercifully not long ago, with James Hiller, and a horse.

A horse, you ask?

Somehow she had let James convince her that, as a now free person, she had to learn how to ride a horse 'like a man'.

"I don't understand why I let you talk me into this. I am not a man, and know how to ride a horse perfectly well."

James glanced over at her while strapping the saddle down on the chocolate brown mare that was content to chew on the overgrown grass. "You're dressed in men's clothes."

Sometimes this boy infuriated her to no return.

Crossing her arms, she confidently strode to the horse when James finished, getting her footing, and sitting on the horse as a young lady should.

James laughed, and it took all Sarah's strength to bite her tongue to not say something. He sat his hands on his hipbones, watching the show she was sure would be enjoyable for him.

"You have trousers on, put one leg of either side of the horse," James laughed, watching the redhead struggle with the new concept of not being the proper young lady she was so accustomed to being.

Meanwhile, as James was getting a laugh, Sarah was having an internal battle with herself. It didn't have to do with sitting on the horse like a man should, and it didn't even occur to her that her mother would probably disown her if she witnessed this.

It was the sound of James' laugh that distracted her.

And it wasn't that she was falling head over heals for the boy… now man. It was that she didn't detest his childish laugh like she had before. It was deep – a man's voice. Somewhere in between surviving the war and working for the paper, James had become a man.

A childish man, perhaps, but a man nonetheless.

Maybe she had eaten something that morning that had made her delirious, but she was quite certain that she was admitting to herself that James Hiller was quite the catch. Sweet when need be, fun, devious, and dare she let herself think it, handsome.

Her hand automatically grazed the locket that still hung from her neck, and she was reminded that deep within, James had a soft spot that she wasn't sure why he didn't show more often. It was clearly preferred over his usual childlike behaviour.

"Here," James sighed, striding up beside the horse. He pushed himself up behind her with little effort, showing her more signs that time had done him well. "It's not all that different."

Sarah felt his feet softly touch the mare's side, and off they trotted. However, she wasn't thinking about the horse and how different it was to ride in men's clothing. She was concentrated on James' arms around her, holding the reins, and being so oddly close to her.

"See?" James spoke again, startling Sarah out of her odd thoughts. She shouldn't be thinking like this, James was her friend, someone who she had detested when she first met him and for a long while after too. "It's way more comfortable I bet."

She nodded her head in agreement. "You're right."

The silence was comfortable as the horse walked in a slow trot, something they were no longer accustomed to with the warfare they had experienced for what felt like the last decade.

"You know," James broke the silence. "The peace and quiet out here is kind of nice."

She laughed, thinking of how similar their thoughts were from constantly being together for the longest while. "It's certainly different with no exciting stories to cover."

"Or being threatened to be thrown in jail every time we move."

War – defined as active hostility or contention, she knew, was indefinable unless you have experienced it first hand like they had. It was hard to not be bitter with everything they had been exposed to, and she could only imagine the men who fought and received unbearable scars.

She suddenly had the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that James, in the prime age and condition to be recruited, had not been sent off to war.

The brick wall of reality hurt, Sarah realized, as she felt her cheeks flamed the colour of her hair. She was thankful James was behind her so he wouldn't question her embarrassment.

Embarrassment over the realization that James would never be _just_ her friend anymore; not with the feelings that plagued her.

"Maybe someday it'll be acceptable for women to ride horses like this," she stated, desperate to get her feelings at bay.

"The world changes everyday," James started, nodding his head in the direction of the empty field that still had memories of the broken lives that accompanied the warfare. "Maybe you can be the women to show the world it's okay to ride like this."

"I don't think the world is ready for that kind of change yet. I'm probably the first women to willingly wear trousers."

James shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? Things change all the time."

She turned around to glance into his blue orbs, once again agreeing with him – things really do change.

**Don't forget to review! **


End file.
